


i’ll be always watchin’ you

by SerpentineJ



Category: Watcher (TV 2019), 왓쳐 | WATCHER
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, basically 7k words of my self indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 22:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20443862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineJ/pseuds/SerpentineJ
Summary: “Will you two be alright at the scene?” Younggoon asks.“It’ll be fine,” Chigwang says, fiddling with something on his desk. He glances up. “And I won’t do anything to falsely implicate anyone, either, so don’t worry, and focus on fixing your leg.”“You’re very considerate today,” Younggoon says, smiling. There’s a pause. “I trust you.”





	i’ll be always watchin’ you

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: it’s ooc because its so fucking hard to write them for some reason but this is MY fanfiction I can make it as lovey dovey as I WANT

Chigwang and Younggoon have reached an acceptance. In the new Anti-Corruption Investigation Team office – same gym equipment, same tin desks, different door plaque – it’s taken for granted that every time Chigwang leaves to investigate a scene or respond to a report, Younggoon accompanies him as his partner. Ever since the ledger had been released into the world, and Chigwang had resigned and been reinstated, Younggoon has been at the man’s side like a particularly difficult spot of superglue.

“Fuck!” Youngoon gasps, because he’s bleeding out of a fresh, nicely-sized bullet hole in his thigh. The blood gushing over his hands is bright red and feels thin as water – if the bullet has torn his femoral artery, Younggoon knows this scene could get ugly very quickly. He hauls his body up by the torso anyways and ignores the screaming pain tearing through his left thigh.

There’s the sound of multiple things falling onto the concrete warehouse floor. In the patches of light streaming in from the dilapidated ceiling, Younggoon can make out what looks like Chigwang wrestling with the perp. He starts to feel lightheaded – his knuckles turn white, and his fingers start slipping just as he sees the glint of Chigwang’s handcuffs emerging from his back pocket. 

By the time Chigwang has cuffed the assailant, Younggoon’s vision is swimming. He sees more than feels himself start to fall to the ground.

\--

Younggoon wakes to a steady beeping sound.

His brain spins to life. The beeping sound is a heart monitor – the heartbeat must be his – there’s an aching sore the size of a softball on the top of his left thigh. He tries to open his eyes.

Chigwang is sitting next to him.

“Mm,” Younggoon says, his mouth feeling like it’s stuffed with bandages and baking soda.

“You’re awake,” Chigwang says, putting his phone away and leaning forward in his chair. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh,” Younggoon says, blinking once and frowning. He licks his lips and swallows and tries again – his voice is raspy and dry when it comes out. He struggles to a sitting position. Chigwang’s hands on his back brace him. “How long have I been out?”

“Not long.” Chigwang says. There’s an odd look on his face. He’s not an easy man to read under normal circumstances, but Younggoon has been getting better at it – his lips tighten when he’s thinking hard, and his voice shakes in that particular way when he’s desperate, and if he smiles, he’s probably hiding something – but his eyes now are crinkled at the corners in a way that makes him look conflicted. It’s not a familiar expression. “About six hours, including surgery.”

“Oh.” Younggoon says. He pulls the blanket off his leg – his pant leg has been cut off all the way to the hip, and there’s a swath of clean bandage wrapped around his thigh. “Huh.”

“I don’t know why you’re always the one being shot,” Chigwang mutters, his forehead creasing. He’s a little fidgety with his hands – he pulls the blanket back over Younggoon’s leg and smooths out the creases on the edge, seeming distracted. Younggoon watches him.

“You got the guy?” He says.

“Of course.” Chigwang says.

“Good.” Younggoon sighs, laying back in the bed, rubbing his face with one hand. “Can I go back to work tomorrow?”

“Absolutely not,” Chigwang says, in a tone that brooks no argument. 

“Fuck.” Younggoon mutters. He turns his head so he’s looking at Chigwang from the pillow. Chigwang’s face is a little sideways, but it’s no easier to decipher. “You’re not going to try anything funny while I’m gone, right? Like planting evidence on the guy who shot me.”

Chigwang makes a noise like a chuckle.

“The evidence is already perfectly clear.” He says. His hand is settled, distractingly, on Younggoon’s covered knee. His fingers tap a random interval on the blanket. “You should think about yourself for once.”

Younggoon smiles.

“How can I do that, when I can’t trust anyone else?” He jokes.

Chigwang looks at him. That expression is back on his face. It settles into the frown lines between his eyebrows and makes him look like he has something else he wants to say, which is odd, because Chigwang is not the kind of person to restrain himself for the sake of propriety.

Younggoon breaks eye contact first.

“It’s alright.” He says. He looks at the ceiling for a moment and then glances back to Chigwang. “I’ll be back at work after a week, anyways.”

Chigwang sighs and leans back in his chair.

\--

Medical house arrest doesn’t treat Younggoon well. He gets a little antsy being cooped up in his apartment for the entire time – after a few days, he’s itching to get out, even if it’s just to walk around the parking lot of the complex, but every time he thinks about it, the doctor’s voice replays in his head, wearing his ears down about giving his muscles proper rest before the next time he gets shot. Seoyeon and Taejoo both visited in the beginning, but Seoyeon is testifying as a forensics expert in one of the cases that Taejoo is prosecuting, and both of them are understandingly busy.

On the fourth day, there’s a knock at his door.

“Coming,” Younggoon says, pulling himself up off the couch. He has a crutch, but he doesn’t need it to drag himself to the door. He looks over the threshold in surprise. “Team Leader Do.”

“Don’t you check who it is before you open the door?” Chigwang says. There’s a plastic bag from the convenience store down the street in his hand. His eyes flick down Younggoon’s body. “Where’s your crutch?”

“You sound like an old nurse,” Younggoon grumbles, moving aside to let him in. Chigwang steps over the threshold and takes off his shoes. “Don’t you know the passcode? It’s the same as it was when my parents were living here. You could have just let yourself in.”

Chigwang frowns at him. He sets the plastic bag down on the table – there’s a hollow noise, like there’s a container inside. 

“Why didn’t you change the passcode?” He says.

“So the murderer could come back and try to kill me,” Younggoon shrugs, pulling at the lip of the plastic bag and eyeing the contents. “What is all of this?”

“Food.” Chigwang says. “And I stopped at the convenience store.”

Younggoon smiles.

“I’ll be back at work in a few days anyways,” he says.

“You’ll be on desk duty until you get the doctor’s permission.”

“What? That’s not fair.”

Chigwang looks at him. He seems only a minute away from crossing his arms. Younggoon relents.

“Alright.” He says. He takes a couple takeout containers out of the bag and stops – there’s instant ramen, and energy bars, and a handful of different candies. He picks up a pack of gum of the same type that Chigwang always has in his jacket pocket.

Chigwang watches him.

Younggoon smiles and shakes himself out of it.

“You’ll stay and help me eat this, right?” He asks, looking back up at Chigwang – that strange expression is back. He blinks, and it disappears. 

“I-“ Chigwang starts.

Younggoon shakes his head. He’s in the mood for company. Being on mandatory bed rest has been driving him up the wall.

“Sit down.” He says. “Do you want water?”

“Mm.” Chigwang says, almost absently. Younggoon hears the chair legs scrape against the floor as Chigwang slowly sits down. He fills two cups with water and soaks in the strange scenario – Chigwang, in his apartment for no good reason, with takeout and snacks and an unreadable look on his face. He smiles into his mug. 

\--

Younggoon goes into work on Monday. His leg still throbs when he steps on it, but he uses his crutch and gets up the stairs as best he can. Seoyeon stands bolt upright when she sees him hobble through the door.

“Younggoon!” She exclaims. “I know the doctor said it was alright, but you really-“

“I’m fine.” He cuts her off, smiling. “I’m stuck on desk duty for the next week and a half anyways, so at least let me get out of my apartment.”

She frowns at him. 

“If you’re sure,” she says after a moment. Her thin fingers are still scrunched in the sleeve of his flannel, pale at the joints. He’s familiar with how strong her grip is. “Team Leader Do knows that you’re coming back today, right?”

There’s the dull clicking sound of the handle turning, and the door swings open – Chigwang is on the other side, striding into their office.

“Speak of the devil,” Younggoon whispers, the corner of his mouth curving up in a smile. 

“I seriously think he’s actually always watching from somewhere,” Seoyeon mutters under her breath.

“Am I interrupting?” Chigwang says, setting his stuff down on his desk and looking at them. His hair and suit are as normal and neat as ever. Chigwang right now is only adjacent to the Chigwang who had shown up on Younggoon’s doorstep a few nights ago with takeout and snacks and no real motive that Younggoon can discern.

“No! Of course not,” Seoyeon says hastily. Younggoon almost laughs. Even though his leg still throbs like mad, he’s in a good mood from getting out of the house.

“Ms. Jo, we have an investigation to conduct,” Chigwang says. He tucks his phone in his pocket. “Can you pull the car up to the front?”

Seoyeon nods and leaves. The door closes behind her, the metal sound echoing familiarly in the large room. 

“Will you two be alright at the scene?” Younggoon asks.

“It’ll be fine,” Chigwang says, fiddling with something on his desk. He glances up. “And I won’t do anything to falsely implicate anyone, either, so don’t worry, and focus on fixing your leg.”

“You’re very considerate today,” Younggoon says, smiling. There’s a pause. “I trust you.”

Younggoon turns around and goes back to his desk. Chigwang stares after him. Younggoon’s lips curl at the corners with the bubbling feeling that rises in his stomach – he feels like he’s finally moving forward for the first time in his life, after finally getting closure on his past. He has never told someone that he trusts them before. 

It’s not that he trusts Chigwang not to lie to his face – even now, Chigwang is still a solitary island on the horizon – but Younggoon knows that even if Chigwang does run a little reckless, Younggoon will be right on his heels. For every step he takes, Younggoon will never be far away. A sense of satisfaction swells in his chest at the thought, though he’s not sure why.

Chigwang is still watching him. Younggoon looks up.

“Aren’t you going to the scene?” He asks.

Chigwang blinks at him. His expression is unusually unguarded. The smallest lines of surprise crease around his eyes.

“Right,” he says, and leaves.

\--

“Fuck the Corruption team!” the officer spits, brandishing a knife. “You’re Do Chigwang’s dog! It’s not my fault! I did it to protect the police force!”

“Okay, just put the knife down,” Younggoon says, hands raised in an attempt at a placating gesture. It’s only been a few weeks since he was shot, and he’s not particularly in the mood to sustain another life-threatening injury. “We’ll listen to your side of the story.”

This, of course, is a little bit of a fib – even if the officer were innocent, which they know for a fact he is not, he would still be on the hook for pulling a weapon on fellow officers. Maybe he’s learning something from Chigwang.

Chigwang who is currently sneaking up behind the aggravated officer, knees braced, arms up and almost in a reaching position. He makes eye contact with Younggoon and Younggoon understands immediately. 

Five minutes and a decent amount of floor-wrestling later, the officer is tied up and Younggoon and Chigwang are sitting on the floor, out of breath.

“Christ.” Younggoon pants, stretching his limbs. His leg twinges. He presses his palm against the scar tissue covered by his jeans – Chigwang’s sharp eyes catch the movement.

“Are you alright?” He asks, frowning.

“Fine.” Younggoon replies. It really is fine, it’s just that the wound isn’t completely healed, even if his stitches are long-dissolved. He blinks. “Team Leader Do. You’re bleeding.”

Chigwang seems surprised, as though he can’t feel it. There’s a diagonal gash through the arm of his suit jacket. It seems like the knife must have gotten fairly deep into his arm, because the blood starting to saturate the fabric is dark red and sluggish. Chigwang wastes no time in pulling off his jacket and poking his fingers into the wound.

“Don’t do that,” Younggoon says, shuffling over to kneel on the ground next to him. He wraps his fingers around Chigwang’s elbow and starts winding the remnants of the destroyed jacket around his arm. “Don’t move too much either, you’ll only make it bleed more.”

Chigwang’s gaze is on him. Younggoon looks up at him and then back down at his arm. He ties off the jacket – it’s makeshift as all hell, but it’ll slow the bleeding and make it easier for the paramedics when they arrive.

“Do you really,” Chigwang says, breaking the silence, a question like a bolt from the blue, “trust me?”

Younggoon looks back at him.

“Mm.” He says. “I believed you didn’t murder my mother, didn’t I?” He conveniently leaves out the part where he had technically attacked him.

“I thought you were watching me because you didn’t trust me to do the right thing,” Chigwang says. He has a way of bluntly cutting straight through things most people would be embarrassed to talk about. Instead, he’s more awkward when bringing food to an injured coworker’s house. 

“I am.” Younggoon says, patting the Macgyvered bandage on Chigwang’s arm absently. “I don’t trust you to do the right thing. I trust you to be yourself and chase your own justice.” 

He smiles. Chigwang looks as shocked has he had the day they had searched for evidence at Deputy Park’s fish farm, and Younggoon had jumped straight into the pool – which is to say, not that shocked, but a little surprised in the widening of his eyes.

“I trust you.” Younggoon repeats, the corners of his eyes crinkling. When he says it, he feels happy, even in an abandoned building with Chigwang’s blood on his hands. “The fact that I know you makes you predictable, Team Leader Do. And even if you do go astray, I’ll make sure I stop you.”

At that moment, the paramedics and the other police officers rush into the building. The officer that Younggoon and Chigwang have tied up gives a small moan in pain. Younggoon gets to his feet and offers Chigwang his hand – Chigwang looks at him for a moment before taking it with his non-injured side.

“Team Leader Do!” Seoyeon exclaims, running onto the scene. “You’re hurt!”

“It’s nothing,” Chigwang says, though his voice is a little rough.

“I think the guy got him with his knife.” Younggoon supplies, pointing at the remains of Chigwang’s navy blazer that are now wrapped around his upper arm. He frowns. “What a waste. That was a nice jacket.”

Seoyeon snorts a laugh despite herself.

\--

It seems like he’s made a habit of surprising Chigwang.

“Younggoon,” Chigwang says. “What are you doing here?”

“You got stitches, right?” Younggoon says. He lifts a plastic bag full of groceries. “I’m here to return the favor.”

Chigwang, almost at a loss, lets him in. Younggoon toes his shoes off at the entrance of the apartment and peers around inside – it’s basically what he thought it would be like, stark and spartan in furnishing, all dark and neutral tones of blue and grey and olive green.

“Your house looks like your wardrobe,” Younggoon says, ambling into the kitchen. 

“Is that an insult or a compliment?” Chigwang asks, following him. He’s wearing a gray sweater and a pair of comfortable looking black pants, and his hair is just a little bit more mussed than it would be if he were on the job. It’s extremely funny if Younggoon thinks about it for more than five seconds. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Just an observation.” Younggoon says, making himself at home and unpacking the groceries on the counter. He pulls open the fridge. “Team Leader Do, do you not cook at all? There’s no food in here.” There’s a few bottles of water, and a couple boxes of store-bought side dishes, and one solitary can of beer. It looks even worse than Younggoon’s own kitchen, and that’s saying something, given the fact that the first thing his father, who had been eating prison food for fifteen years, had done was go grocery shopping. Chigwang frowns, as though he’s seeing the state of his fridge for the first time.

“What are you doing?” Chigwang asks. 

“Cooking,” Younggoon says. He turns around. “You can’t lift stuff, right? And I’ve been eating takeout for the past week.”

He turns back to the counter and busies himself with finding a pot in the cupboard. Chigwang stares at him.

“Take a seat,” Younggoon says over his shoulder. “I didn’t bring that much, so it won’t take that long.”

There’s a pause, and Chigwang steps towards him instead. Younggoon keeps his gaze fixed on the pot. Chigwang reaches around him and opens a cabinet on the wall – he brings out two bowls and two sets of chopsticks. 

“I’ll take water,” Younggoon says, breaking the brief silence, the beating of his heart maybe a little faster than its regular pace. “I have to drive back later, so I can’t drink.”

“Mm.” Chigwang says. His voice is a little bit quiet – he’s still standing just a fraction too close to Younggoon, which is extremely distracting for some reason. Younggoon is suddenly acutely aware of how much taller he is than Chigwang. He can see the top of the other man’s head. His hair looks soft. Younggoon stirs the pot and tries to take in all of the strange feelings he’s been having lately.

Chigwang moves away in the next moment, reaching to retrieve two glasses and fill them with water, and spoon rice into the two bowls – at least he has rice, Younggoon thinks. He had stumbled upon an entire cabinet full of instant noodle while he had been looking for the pot a few minutes ago. 

“What kind of vegetable do you like?” Younggoon asks conversationally, starting to chop green onions. “I wasn’t sure, so I just bought whatever was at the grocery store.”

“Mm.” Chigwang says. “I’m not very picky.”

Younggoon smiles.

\--

“Younggoon.” Seoyeon says, leaning back in her chair. “Do you want to come shopping with me after work?”

“What?” He says. “What brought this on?”

Seoyeon sighs.

“My parents are forcing me to go on some blind dates, and I don’t have any clothes,” she moans, spinning around in her chair before stopping facing him. She looks him up and down – he straightens under her critical eye. “And you could stand to go shopping once in a while.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” He protests weakly.

“Didn’t I see you wearing that shirt on Tuesday?” She says. His response dies on his lips.

This is how he comes to be carrying shopping bags at seven in the evening.

“Younggoon, do you think this would look good on you?” She pushes a black jacket into his arms. It’s thicker than any of the ones he owns, with a tough exterior and a soft inside. He tries it on.

“It looks okay, I think,” he says, zipping up the front and pulling at the raised collar. 

“Oh, it looks really good!” Seoyeon exclaims, tugging at the sleeves. “You should buy this. You don’t own that many winter clothes, do you? I heard this winter is supposed to be colder than usual.”

She fusses over him like an older sister. A feeling of warmth spreads in the well of his stomach. He buys the jacket.

“Sorry for making you come all the way out here with me,” Seoyeon says, later, when they’re finished loading their purchases in his car, and she’s bought him a juice from a vending machine in the parking lot for his troubles. The orange pulp is thick and sweet on his tongue. They lean against his car and drink under the light of the fluorescent streetlamp. Moths are starting to gather around the light – they flutter blackly against the bright glow of the bulb.

“It’s fine.” Younggoon says, smiling. “I had fun.”

“Oh, I’m glad,” Seoyeon sighs, draining the last of her juice. “I don’t have that many girl friends to come shopping with me. Since I used to work on-call forensics.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Younggoon says, and they both laugh.

\--

He wears the jacket because it’s getting brisker. It is kind of refreshing to wear new clothes, he thinks, pulling at the hem where it falls a little below his hipbone – he’s not rich, but fifteen years of living on the barebone minimum and owning his living space means he’s not badly off financially, and it won’t kill him to buy a few new outfits. He feels his mindset has been slowly changing since he had gotten closure on his parents’ cases.

\--

The wall is cold against Younggoon’s back.

“Shh,” Chigwang hisses. The broom closet is barely big enough for one person, let alone two. The hostage-taker they’re hiding from while they formulate a plan is wandering around in the building somewhere. Chigwang’s hand is pressed against Younggoon’s chest, a light but firm pressure, keeping him backed against the wall. Thankfully, the closet is mostly empty aside from them – the handle of a single mop digs into Younggoon’s shoulder. Chigwang’s front side is pressed against Younggoon. His head is turned to listen for noise from the hallway. Younggoon can smell his aftershave. His heart starts to beat faster. He becomes extremely conscious of the hand pressed on his chest – from this distance, Chigwang must be able to feel the blood pounding under his fingertips. 

There’s a thumping sound from the hallway. Younggoon stiffens. Adrenaline rushes through his body. At least Chigwang’s attention seems to be wholly focused on the case at hand, unlike Younggoon, who finds himself getting distracted more and more.

Chigwang’s palm is warm through the fabric of his shirt. Younggoon swallows. Chigwang, with his typical disregard for personal space, doesn’t seem to notice anything odd.

“I think he’s moved on,” Chigwang murmurs, voice a little rough from how quiet he’s speaking. He slowly twists the knob to open the door – Younggoon lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and it comes out more like a shuddering noise.  
Chigwang’s eyes snap to his face. 

Younggoon knows that his face is flushed – he’s hoping Chigwang won’t notice, but being the sole subject of Chigwang’s intense focus is both exciting and frightening, because his eyes catch every detail. Younggoon’s breath feels tight in his chest. Chigwang’s hand is still on his chest, and Younggoon finally realizes what that odd expression is – it’s the same thing that he’s feeling. Confusion and bare-faced insecurity and something that raises the hairs on his arms.

Chigwang swallows. His Adam’s apple is sharp against the line of his throat.

“We have to,” he says, a strange quality to his voice, like he’s out of breath, “catch the culprit.”

Younggoon’s heart is trying to beat itself out of his chest.

“Yes,” he breathes, and they both spill out of the tiny closet and into the brightly lit corridor.

\--

The strange thoughts that have been slowly creeping up on him – for how long, he doesn’t know, maybe it’s been like this all this time – reach a shouting, clamouring crescendo after that incident. 

When Chigwang is in the room, Younggoon is hyper-tuned to his every movement. When Chigwang’s eyes linger on him, as they often do, because Chigwang’s gaze has a special quality of drag and weight to it that had stolen Younggoon’s breath with its quiet intensity the first time they had met, the blood starts to pound harder under his skin. The familiar way Chigwang calls his name makes his heart race.

He must have the worst luck in the world. Chigwang doesn’t show romantic interest in anyone, let alone other men. It could never work. Younggoon feels foolish for even entertaining the idea. They have their working relationship, and he can’t watch Chigwang for corruption if he’s blinded by his personal feelings, he tells himself. After a few days, he adjusts, getting used to the way his heart will jump when Chigwang claps a hand on his shoulder or pulls him around by the lapel. 

Chigwang, on the other hand, is acting more strangely than ever.

He’s always had a certain disregard for boundaries like personal space and propriety, but even the concepts seem to have gone out the window now – it’s not unusual for Chigwang to get Younggoon’s attention by laying a hand flat along his spine, or splaying his fingers on the inside of Younggoon’s elbow. Younggoon – guilty pleasures, and all that – doesn’t pull away.

\--

The universe’s timing seems to be working out for him – right after Younggoon’s strange revelation about how he feels about Chigwang, his neighbor asks him out for dinner. He’s a little bit older than Younggoon, but not by much – the type to sport slicked back hair and round glasses, and a sweater vest more days than not. He’s a banker, apparently. He’s very nice, and seems fairly interested, and likes to text. Even if Younggoon has to hide all his emotional baggage behind a smile when they’re spending time together, it’s not a terrible arrangement, and it helps him get his mind off his depressingly hopeless crush.

“Did something happen?” Chigwang asks, the fifth time in five minutes that Younggoon’s phone buzzes during a stakeout. He’s been trying to send hints that he shouldn’t be texting, but his new friend is fairly persistent. It’s not exactly a bad thing. Younggoon looks up from his screen.

“Sorry,” he says, a little chastised.

“You shouldn’t be distracted during a stakeout,” Chigwang tells him, camera in his lap. They’ve been sitting here for three hours now. Younggoon is lucky he has a strong bladder, because Chigwang’s stakeout stamina is apparantly inhuman. Strength born from obsession, he thinks, almost smiling. 

Younggoon gestures at the shopfront that they’re watching. Their target, a man in his mid thirties who might be connected with a prescription medication distribution ring that has a few local cops on the take, is sitting by himself behind the counter, fiddling with his phone, which is in landscape position. From the looks of it, he’s in the middle of a videogame.

“Does he look like he’s moving anytime soon?” Younggoon says.

Chigwang purses his lips at him. 

Younggoon’s phone buzzes. He’s getting a call. Apparently his friend hasn’t taken the hint.

“Sorry, let me take this for a second.” Younggoon says. He presses the phone to his ear and turns his head to face the window. “Hello?”

There’s a pause.

“Mm.” 

Pause. 

“Sorry, I can’t talk now.”

Pause.

“No, I can’t do dinner tonight, I have work. Okay. Bye.”

He hangs up. 

“Is this what dating is supposed to be like?” He murmurs to himself. 

“Who was that?” Chigwang asks. Younggoon looks around at him. Chigwang’s gaze is on the phone in his hand. Slowly, his eyes slide up to Younggoon’s face. Younggoon blinks.

“My neighbor.” He says. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken a personal call on a stakeout. He slips his phone into his pocket, resolving to not reply even if his neighbor texts again. 

Chigwang opens his mouth to say something, but at that moment, the police officers they’ve been waiting for enter the pharmacy. They make eye contact and turn to open their car doors at the same time.

\--

“You’re dating?!” Seoyeon whispers, voice rising to a disbelieving pitch. Younggoon snatches his phone back off his desk and sits down in his chair.

“Who told you to go through my phone while I was in the bathroom?” He sighs. It’s not that he minds, particularly – it’s not like he has any friends to be sharing secrets with, or basically anything on his phone non-work related – but it’s worth it for the way she turns pink and sputters.

“No, your phone rang, so I ignored it, but then it ran again when no one picked up, and Team Leader Do kept looking at it, so I got up to decline the call!” She hisses. “And then he texted you, and I happened to see the text when it came up on the screen…”

She’s rambling a little from embarrassment, even though he’s the one who should be embarrassed. He’s not sure why they’re whispering, since Chigwang is sitting about ten feet away and can hear basically everything they’re saying anyways, but it is odd to talk about his love life at full volume in the office, so he copies her low volume.

“I’m not dating, okay?” He murmurs, straightening the hem of his jacket self-consciously. “My neighbor asked me out for dinner.”

“At a nice restaurant?”

He frowns.

“If I had to wear a dress shirt, does it count as nice?” He asks.

“Yes,” she says decisively. “He got you out of those grey flannels? This guy must be good.”

“I’m really not dating him,” Younggoon mutters. His eyes flick to Chigwang’s desk. Chigwang is staring right at them. The breath feels like it’s been sucked from his windpipe suddenly, and he drops his eyes reflexively.

“But you like him?” Seoyeon says, big brown eyes looking at him.

Chigwang gets up abruptly. The sound of his rolling chair wheels scraping against the floor is loud in the large room as he strides to the door and shuts it behind him.

“Is it weird,” Younggoon says quietly, his organs feeling like they’re all trying to crawl up into his throat like little frogs, “if I say he’s only okay, and I’m using him as kind of a rebound, because I think I’m kind of into Team Leader Do?”

“Oh, my god, yes.” Seoyeon replies instantly. She puts her index finger in his face before he can reply, and squints at him. “Wait. Maybe. I can kinda see it.”

“You can?” Younggoon says, tone incredulous. “That’s ridiculous. I didn’t know until, like, a week and a half ago.”

Seoyeon shrugs.

“It’s about as odd as me having a crush on Prosecutor Han, right?” She says.

Younggoon chokes.

“You what?”

The door opens. Chigwang walks back in. Seoyeon pats Younggoon on the shoulder a little harder than strictly neccesary and makes a fist – fighting – before going back to her seat. Younggoon scrubs a hand across his face.

\--

Chigwang is waiting in the parking lot of Younggoon’s apartment building when he gets home.

“Team Leader Do,” Younggoon says, slightly surprised. 

Chigwang wordlessly holds up a plastic bag. There’s a mix of what looks like instant noodles and actual groceries in it. A lively bunch of scallions pokes out of the top. 

“What’s the occasion?” Younggoon asks, pressing the elevator button to take them up to his floor. The lights above the door start to count down.

“Mm.” Chigwang says, but doesn’t reply. He seems to have a lot on his mind. He’s mostly looking at Younggoon. His gaze slips away for a few moments, then comes back. It’s a type of insecurity that Younggoon isn’t used to seeing from Chigwang, but not one he’s entirely unfamiliar with. 

They get in the elevator. Chigwang opens the grocery bag and peers inside, as though he’s not even sure what he’d bought. 

The door opens.

“Oh,” Younggoon’s neighbor says, blinking at them. Younggoon almost chokes. This is the worst possible timing. Chigwang looks up at the man, and then at Younggoon. “Hello.”

He moves out of the way so they can step out of the elevator. The doors slide shut.

“Hello,” Younggoon says, smiling politely. “Weren’t you going down?”

“It’s good timing, because I actually wanted to talk to you,” his neighbor says, moving forward by a fraction. “It turns out I’m busy on Saturday, but would Sunday evening work for you?”

Younggoon scratches his face.

“I don’t know, I might have to check,” he says, despite knowing that he doesn’t have anything planned. “I’ll let you know.”

“Okay,” his neighbor says, smiling. He turns to Chigwang, who’s holding the grocery bag and looking at him with an odd look on his face. “And you are…?”

“Someone he knows,” Chigwang says, a little more firmly than can be considered simply casual, and, to Younggoon’s surprise, he wraps his fingers around Younggoon’s wrist and starts to pull him down the hallway. It’s not unusual behavior for Chigwang, one of whose habits is pulling people around by the jacket lapel, but it’s usually reserved for suspects, or people he’s particularly peeved at.

“I’ll talk to you later!” Younggoon’s neighbor calls after them. 

“Team Leader Do,” Younggoon asks, after they’re halfway down the hallway. “Is everything alright?”

Chigwang’s pace slows – his hand slips from Younggoon’s wrist, disappointingly. Younggoon can feel his own blood pulsing hotly under the thin skin. 

Younggoon unlocks his front door and steps inside. Chigwang follows him and puts the grocery bag on the counter.

“There’s water in the fridge,” Younggoon says, setting his bag with his police laptop in it down next to the couch. “Can you get the pot from the-“

Chigwang presses a hand to his shoulder. Younggoon turns around. Chigwang sets his other hand on Younggoon’s hip and pulls him into an unexpected hug.

Younggoon stills.

“Team Leader Do?” He says, quietly, after a moment. 

“Do you really,” Chigwang says, voice low, almost a whisper, “trust me?”

The question feels heavy in the air. His hair is soft against Younggoon’s ear. Younggoon’s heart is racing so hard he can feel it in his bones. His breathing is shallow, and he can’t help wanting to move just a little bit closer to Chigwang’s warmth.

“Mm.” Younggoon says. He’s glad Chigwang can’t see his face right now. Maybe that’s why he had hugged him – his own face is hidden in Younggoon’s shoulder. “I do. That’s why I’m watching you.”

Chigwang exhales against him.

“I’ll stop you,” Younggoon breathes. “If you do anything wrong. I’ll stop you myself. Just like you stopped me from killing anyone.”

He begins to get an idea of what all this is about. Hope, a gentle blossom, starts to unfurl in his chest, suffusing his skin with warmth from the inside. Chigwang’s palm is a familiar weight against the small of his back.

“I trust you to,” Chigwang murmurs. 

Younggoon desperately wants Chigwang to kiss him. 

“It would be,” Chigwang says, “improper-“

“Since when have you cared about propriety?” Younggoon says, heart trying to hammer its way out of his chest. His windpipe feels too small for his lungs. Chigwang shifts against him, and starts to pull away, and Younggoon despairs the loss of contact but at the same time is overtaken with an all-encompassing urge to see his face. 

“Stop me,” Chigwang says, “if I do anything wrong,” and with wording like that, he could be talking about anything – the present moment, their current caseload, a future hypothetical situation – but all ambiguity evaporates when he leans up just the slightest amount and cups Younggoon’s jaw with one warm hand and, wonder of wonders, presses their lips together.

It’s a situation Younggoon had never expected. He’s in the apartment both his parents had died in, and kissing a man who has shot another person in front of him, and fabricated evidence like it’s second nature, and whom he had once suspected of murder and attacked with a glass nameplate – and none of it matters. Chigwang is Chigwang, and when he kisses him, Younggoon abandons all thought and kisses him back.

Chigwang’s other hand is settled on his thigh. He has to stretch upwards a little to reach Younggoon’s face. Chigwang breathes against Younggoon’s mouth – an embarrassing kind of high-pitched whine comes from the back of Younggoon’s throat that he’s never made before – Chigwang makes a low noise and backs him against the wall of the apartment. 

Younggoon is reminded of their incident in the broom closet, what feels like a million years ago. He breaks away and chokes a laugh. Chigwang looks up at him. He’s suitably flushed, and his hair is only a little less mussed than when Younggoon had tried to kill him in Han Taejoo’s office. 

“What?” He says, frowning almost petulantly. Younggoon swallows. A wave of happiness and desire rises from the pit of his stomach to his ribcage. 

“Nothing,” he breathes, smiling, which seems to put Chigwang at ease. He kisses him again. Chigwang, singleminded in everything he does, kisses with weight and intent. Younggoon finds himself relaxing into it. 

\--

Over dinner – Chigwang had bought all the toppings people usually put on ramyeon, as though he wasn’t sure which ones Younggoon liked – they sit on the same side of the table and eat in a comfortable silence. 

“You’re not going to meet that man on Sunday, are you?” Chigwang asks, looking at Younggoon from the corner of his eye.

Younggoon looks at him. He snorts a laugh.

“Is that why you’ve been acting so oddly?” He asks. Chigwang frowns at him. Younggoon smiles. “I won’t. I wasn’t that interested anyways, even though he seemed nice.”

“Mm.” Chigwang makes an accepting noise.

\--

Chigwang kisses him before he leaves. It leaves Younggoon’s heart pounding for a good five minutes after the door closes behind him.

\--

Nothing much changes at work. Barely anything changes in their personal lives, either, actually – it’s just that they will spend dinner at each others’ apartments a little more often, and Younggoon finds out he very much likes the feeling of Chigwang’s fingers around his palm. He calls Chigwang by his first name when they’re alone, and Chigwang becomes even more touchy than before, if that’s possible – he touches Younggoon’s hip to get his attention, or twists their fingers together, or settles under the crook of Younggoon’s arm on the sofa when he’s watching television after work. 

Since Younggoon started coming by a little more often, Chigwang’s apartment looks a little more lived-in. The pots and pans get used a little more. He actually has food in his fridge.

“Is it weird,” Younggoon says, one night, when they’re sitting on the couch in his apartment, the TV on with the volume turned low as background noise, “if I think about you whenever I open my bedroom door?”

Chigwang looks at him a little too quickly. Younggoon almost laughs.

“You replaced my door handle, remember?” He says. 

Chigwang nods.

“I guess I did,” he says. He shrugs, fiddling with his phone. “Good. I hope you’re not letting anyone else into your bedroom.”

“Definitely not,” Younggoon says, throat suddenly a little dry. He swallows. Chigwang gives him a look – the one he has when he knows Younggoon is provoking him – and his eyes are so dark that Younggoon feels the blood run hot in his veins.

Right. They’re together now. Which means – 

All of Younggoon’s quiet fantasies start to bubble up to the surface of his mind – he flushes red and stands up abruptly.

“Bathroom,” he says, and retreats to the safety of the restroom – he splashes water on his face and tries to get the redness under control. Outside, there’s the sound of Chigwang moving around.

“I’m leaving for tonight,” Chigwang calls through the door. There’s the muffled sounds of him walking to the door and putting his shoes on.

“Okay,” Younggoon croaks.

“Sleep well,” Chigwang says, and there’s the noise of the door shutting behind him with a heavy click – Younggoon pokes his head out of the bathroom and sees that he really is gone.

“Fuck,” he says. “He was teasing me.”

\--

A few weeks later, they’re chasing a suspect through a busy market street – Younggoon tackles him, and bowls him straight over a fruit stand, making a huge mess and splattering both of them in pulp. He scrapes up the side of his leg on the pavement and a piece of wood leaves a long, shallow gash in his left forearm. Nevertheless, he apprehends the culprit and cuffs him.

Chigwang is huffing when he catches up a few seconds later.

“Are you alright?” He says, eyes flicking down Younggoon’s body, checking for injuries. He sees the blood leaking from his jeans and staining his shirt sleeve and sighs. “Of course not. You’re covered in fruit, too.”

He hauls him up by the elbow. Younggoon lets himself be pulled up – even the sound of Chigwang admonishing him for not being careful enough in the field makes him smile. Chigwang radios in their location, and Seoyeon shows up in the car a few minutes later.

“Take him in,” Chigwang tells her. His hand still hasn’t left Younggoon’s elbow. Younggoon knows that the adrenaline from the chase still hasn’t worn off – when it does, he’ll probably be able to feel the bruises he’s going to have tomorrow morning. “I’m taking Younggoon home.”

“It’s fine,” Younggoon says, looking at him. “You two need to interrogate the suspect, right? I can get home by myself.”

Chigwang frowns at him. Younggoon gives him a small nod, and he relents, seeming reluctant.

“Okay.” He says, relinquishing his hold on Younggoon’s arm. “Go straight home, and get cleaned up. I’ll come over when we finish talking to him.”

“Yes, sir.” Younggoon says, smiling. “I’ll get going.”

Chigwang wipes a splash of pulp off Younggoon’s face and grimaces at the stickyness on his fingers. It seems like Younggoon had fallen straight into a box of near-overripe mangoes. 

(Seoyeon watches them with raised eyebrows.)

Younggoon starts towards where his car is parked, before they had started the entire chase, and Chigwang watches him go.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: you ever think abt how watchin’/blurry/outsider are literally younggoon/taejoo/chigwang’s character songs . and how watchin’ is abt YOUNGGOON AND CHIGWANG . (they even use younggoons last words “I’ll be watching you” almost verbatim in the lyrics. and how they use words like (romantic) lover and love multiple times in the song . I do im such a baby please im begging you look up the translated lyrics bc theyre abt younggoon and chigwang and my soul is melting out of my face
> 
> tumblr leofemt  
twitter serpentinej  
PLEASE @ me on twitter ive literally been talking abt watcher and other ocn/crime kdrama for . eternity . by myself


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